On the evening of our 2nd wedding anniversary, my husband pushed away my cold plate, placed his black card in front of me and whispered, “Buy yourself whatever you want, but don’t bother me.” I let him go to his former lover, then I made 37 silent payments… until an old letter from my father changed everything.

PART 1

On the evening of their 2nd wedding anniversary, Camille Renaud had prepared the dinner of her life, and her husband only came home to announce that he was going to join the woman he had never forgotten.

In the glass-walled dining room of their house in Saint-Germain-en-Laye, the Seine flowed in the distance under a light February rain. Camille had moved the table closer to the windows, lit two white candles, brought out the Limoges porcelain dinner service, and opened the bottle of Burgundy that Marc was saving “for a special occasion.” Next to her plate, she had placed a blue velvet case.

Inside was an antique pocket watch, Marc’s grandfather’s. He had broken it a year earlier by carelessly tossing it in a drawer. Camille had spent three months searching for a watchmaker capable of repairing the mechanism without erasing the marks of time. She had even taken the train twice to Besançon to oversee the restoration.

Marc had never asked her where she was going.

At 8:11 p.m., the front door finally opened.

Marc entered, wearing a black coat over a grey suit, a cool scent, and a closed expression. His eyes slid over the candles, the dinner, the jewelry box, then over Camille in her midnight blue dress. He did not smile.

— I came by to prevent you from finding out from someone else.

Camille remained standing, her hand gripping the back of a chair.

— What am I supposed to learn?

— I’m not having dinner here tonight.

The silence seemed to swallow the room.

— It’s our wedding anniversary, Marc.

– I know.

He looked at his watch.

— Elise has returned to Paris. She is going through a difficult time. I promised to join her.

Elise Delcourt.

The name that had hovered like a shadow since the beginning of their marriage. The former fiancée, never married. The one whose photograph still lay dormant in a desk drawer. The one who brought a tenderness to Marc’s eyes that Camille hadn’t seen in a long time.

Camille watched the beef cool, the potatoes set in butter, the setting she had taken so much care to prepare.

Marc then took his black card out of his wallet and placed it near his glass.

“Buy yourself something,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

She stared at the map.

— What I want?

— Yes. But don’t ruin my evening with Elise.

Something closed inside her. Not loudly. Not with tears. Like a door being locked from the inside.

Marc grabbed his coat to leave. He believed her silence meant she would forgive him again.

He was wrong.

For as he left their house to join the ghost he had preferred to his living wife, Camille slowly took the black card between her fingers.

And before midnight, Marc was going to receive 37 notifications.

None of them involved jewelry.

None of them involved luxury bags.

And yet, each one would crack the world he thought he controlled.

PART 2

At 8:34 p.m., the first notification arrived on Marc’s phone, which was sitting next to his glass in a restaurant in the 7th arrondissement.

“HOME & TOOLS — €418.27.”

He barely raised his eyes.

At 8:39 p.m., another one followed.

“FURNITURE STORAGE VERSAILLES — €1,126.40.”

At 8:43 p.m.:

“LEBRUN MOVING — €2,850.”

This time, Marc called.

Camille watched her name vibrate on the screen. Before, she would have answered before the second ring. That night, she let the call die.

Then she called her sister.

— Juliette ?

— Camille? It’s late. What’s going on?

Camille stared at the two plates still set opposite each other.

— I think I understand that waiting to be chosen is also making a choice.

Juliette wasn’t joking on the other end of the line.

— Are you coming to my place?

— Not right away. I need to do something first.

— Do you want me to come?

Camille closed her eyes.

— Yes. But not to save me. To remind me to keep going if I’m trembling.

Juliette sighed.

— I’ve been waiting for this position for two years.

Camille went up to the master bedroom. She opened the wardrobe, took out her sweaters, her papers, her mother’s scarf, two photos, her shoes. She left behind the dresses bought by stylists, the jewelry chosen by assistants, all that magnificent life that wasn’t hers.

His phone vibrated.

“What are you doing ?”

She replied:

“I’m using the card. You said what I wanted.”

Marc immediately wrote:

“I wasn’t talking about movers.”

Camille looked at the immense room where nothing really told the story of her existence.

“You didn’t specify.”

At 9:12 PM, he called again.

This time, she answered.

“Why are there already 23 purchases?” asked Marc, his voice low.

— Because I made 23 purchases.

— Camille, that’s ridiculous.

— No. What’s ridiculous is paying for humiliation with a bank card.

Silence.

— I’m going home.

— Non.

— Pardon ?

— You asked me not to ruin your evening.

She hung up.

Her hands were trembling.

But she continued to fill her suitcase.

PART 3

At 10:18 PM, the doorbell rang.

Camille thought she saw a delivery man. But behind the door stood Anaïs, Marc’s younger sister, with wet hair, a cream coat, and a worried look.

“I come in peace,” she said.

Camille let her in.

Anaïs discovered the birthday table untouched, the dinner cold, the candles drooping. She said only one word:

— Oh.

That “oh” contained more tenderness than Marc had in the entire evening.

“Have you eaten?” asked Anaïs.

— Non.

— Then serve me a plate. I refuse to let this steak die for nothing.

They ate in silence, then Anaïs noticed the jewelry box.

She opened it. Her face changed.

— Is that grandpa’s watch?

– Yes.

— Did you get it repaired?

Camille nodded.

Anaïs carefully closed the case.

— Take it with you.

— It belongs to Marc.